She was cold.

Damn it, she was always cold of late. But here at the Wall there was no source of warmth aside from the fire, and Jon's arms. But the fire was dying and Jon was on the other side of the room, sitting before it. He was probably asleep. Gods, he was an idiot. He had let her have his bed, and had insisted that it was perfectly fine, San, don't worry.

Of course she worried. But she was glad for him. Glad that he cared. Glad that he worried, too.

Sansa sank deeper beneath the furs, turning over so that she could see her brother. Her brother. She smiled at the thought. Her eyes closed briefly; suddenly the air smelt of lemon cakes and smoke, and Jon and Robb were sleeping on either side of her. They were all so young, she could not be more than five. Robb was muttering about wolves, almost smirking, but Jon was silent in sleep. He looked sad, she remembered. And so she curled into his side and wrapped her arms around his small form.

But then Ramsay was there, gloating and grabbing, pulling her hair back and hitting her...

She awoke with a sharp gasp, her eyes wide, her heart pounding. It took a moment for her vision to adjust, because the sharp change in light was too much, and she had only been asleep for a second...

Ghost was at her feet, his fur white and glowing against the sunlight that drifted in through the cracks in the window. Sansa lifted her head, only to realise that Jon must have moved closer to her in the night. His chair was stationed at her beside, and he had fallen asleep, hunched over, with his head on the mattress.

Sansa smiled. He still was quiet and sad in his sleep. Sansa pushed his hair back from his eyes. Her brother. Her brother who had always been there for her, no matter what she had done. When she had been younger, he had often sneaked her lemon cakes from the kitchens. When she had been a little older than that he had taught her how to string a bow. She had taught him how to speak to other girls (poor shy Jon, she had thought to herself). But long before that, when she had been so small, Jon and Robb would guard her door from the White Walkers and grumpkins. Sometimes they would tell her stories of knights and princesses.

Mother had found out about how she would make them stay all through the night, and had forbidden it. And so in her stubbornness she had crawled to their room and refused to leave, even though they had never even asked her to.

"Jon," she whispered.

His eyes shot open. Grey. Grey eyes like father's had been. He frowned up at her, but then he grinned. She figured that he did not smile often, and that saddened her. She kissed his brow. "You're an idiot," she said. "You could have slept next to me."

Jon shrugged. "I figured you would want your space."

"Not from you," Sansa shook her head. Ghost huffed. "I just got you back."

Jon sat up and stretched. "Seven hells," he groaned.

Sansa slipped out of the bed and grabbed his cloak. "I hope you realise you're never getting this back."

Jon rolled his eyes and scratched Ghost behind the ears. "I've missed you, sister."

I've missed you, too.